A Dragon's Dogma Tale
by SuperMudz
Summary: Based on my play-through of Dragon's Dogma as I play it for the first time. As such, the lore is largely speculative and likely non-Canon. I was just inspired and like to guess. Hope it proves entertaining.
1. Chapter 1

A DRAGON'S DOGMA TALE

by SuperMudz

(Act One)

Phantasms of the Arisen

_A Short Story based on my play-through of Dragon's Dogma, as it occurs to me (as I'm playing)._

* * *

I

The Hero Meets The Lord

* * *

He smiled, and it was a strange, discomforting thing.

"I slew the dragon by not fighting it, does that make sense, young one?"

"The scripture says that the path leads to light but also destruction. This haunted me on my travels a good while, until one night the thought came to me – that the path itself was a trap. The scripture is true, but written by who, I wonder? Or what purpose did it serve?"

The words rang familiar, so recently spoken, to our hero.

"I dwelled on all the legends, all the stories, all that I knew of the Dragon – all I saw and heard was hopelessness and despair – and while I kept the light bright in my heart, I was full of belief, and believe still – for belief is not merely a rigorous spine, but a lantern one must stoke and kept fed in the face of darkness. But I came to a turning point I did not expect, that required self-control I did not anticipate, and to this day I have not slain, nor confronted the Dragon – except that in my own way, I have. And that is the truth of how I escaped destruction, that is how I bested and survived the dragon."

He paused to take a draught. "Naught very noble or glorious sounding, is it? But I believe that is the test. Perhaps one day I shall be proven wrong, but I tend to and maintain my faith. Every day with vigil. Although I have longed for the battle, many brave have fallen, and I realised how clouded we were with ignorance. At the least, let me add a sum of knowledge to the quest of the Arisen. Although I envy you, for I see the lust for battle in your eyes that will take you to the dragon – its mockeries I shall endure, for there is a secret behind them, although which I cannot say, and I suspect this is the bait which it provides for all heroes. For who can resist a challenge, a mystery? Who can endure the scorn of evil? And yet while I abide here, little has occurred. The world continues."

"I admit I am but a man, and my wisdom not very great – but what little we have we must use, and perhaps men everywhere will become a little bit wiser, and it is our civilisation that will become wise enough."

He scowled. "I do not trust those pawns. I do not know where they come from, or their purpose – but I trust nothing that hides their true face behind those innocuous masks that look so much like us. They aid you in battle it is true, but they do not die as we do. They may be skilled deceivers. But again, so long as nothing occurs, they cause no harm, and do in face help keep our lands clear of goblins and the like."

He paused, but did not take a drink this time.

"'Tis a tangled world we live in now. Maybe you can do your part in straightening some of it out, because for all that – I believe in heroes, as my people do. And I will resist as I can to make sure that does not lead our heroes to their death in false pursuits. That is my task – to be wise where once I wished to be strong."

"There is some great mystery behind this, and one I have not uncovered yet," he studied the inside of the cup, and then replaced it upon its plate. Then he leaned forward and smiled.

Our hero responded both earnestly and in confusion at the same time. "Does the dragon still possess your heart, then?"

"My heart?" the Lord's face was equally puzzled. "Who said the Dragon possessed my heart? Are all Arisen the same?"

"I thought that was how it worked," he replied honestly. "I go to fight the Dragon to reclaim my heart it stole, somehow by its magic of damnation. That is when the Pawns first began to appear to me, to aid me in my quest although their answers do not reveal everything I wish to know either. I admit they puzzle me greatly, and I've been suspicious of them often, even while I grow fond of them."

"Well you have curiosity – that is good." The Lord leaned back.

"Perhaps we will speak on this later," and gave the hero a cunning look over the edge of his cup, which had somehow reappeared to his hand.

(*)

The hero wondered as he left. The Lord seemed to be immensely wise in his way, having chosen the path – but he himself wondered. If that's where the trail ended for him, a curiosity never to be answered, what more would they ever know?

Perhaps it was the noble's part to be here, to observe, and he would chance to find out himself – for he was not yet satisfied the answer was sufficient, and the dangers that imperilled the world seemed as yet unguarded, and the people vulnerable.

The captain, Ser Maximillian, had given him his Wyrm Hunting name – for protection of his identity and the like, it was supposed – although word of him had gotten about so, and he was already so well known even if just by rumour, that it seemed almost foolish.

Nevertheless, "Tanion" was his name now – although with no "Ser" because he was a fisherman and not a noble. He was somewhat warmed by the fact that so far, this seemed to matter little to the knights he met.

He wondered now, she was a lady for certain, but Mercedes had no "Ser" in front of her name, although she was clearly a knight of some rank and countenance, leading a band of men. She was mesmerizingly pretty, was the most he thought of her, he had to admit. He wondered if she was wroth with him in some way, she had said little to him that had not been biting on their journey here. He supposed it would have been "Lady", or "Lady Knight" instead, but his own experience with courtlier matters was indeed pretty limited.

Not the most he thought in the sense that it was the limit of his thoughts, but that it was difficult not to be impressed with the thought. She certainly seemed an able and well respected fighter, that much had been immediately apparent, enough for a woman to be leading men (if that comment wouldn't have earned him a few sharp lashings from her tongue) – but it didn't escape his notice for while it might be less unusual here, it was certainly notable, and he hoped it was in a congratulatory fashion.

He found himself wanting to impress her, at least. As good as she was, her opinion suddenly meant a great deal to him.

He wondered if he could make up for the offense somehow, for it had left him a little depressed, feeling he had left a lady in the lurch, after she had so clearly wished to encourage his spirits with the honour of his "kill". It had seemed such a strong reward to him as well, he had felt immensely spirited by the adventure. (He was indeed quite proud of his action in the battle, against such a monster. It was no Dragon, but they were lucky to have survived, nevertheless.)

Still, at least they had not parted on hard terms – at least she didn't seem to entirely dislike him, but he couldn't help but feel he had betrayed her a little, at least by insufficient attention to what was a great honour. It had not been his intention at all, and it left him feeling a little bit of a heel.

Maybe it was a silly thing to dwell on, with the threat of the Dragon looming over them, and other great monsters like the Hydra he helped to fend off (the prize of the head he took which she had brought before the Duke, although she seemed to have disappeared) – but nevertheless, there was plenty of time for being a… man… he supposed.

She was beautiful. He hoped he would see her again, and learn more about the mysterious warrior. And would she think of him? He hoped.

His entry had been barred from the great castle before, and so he supposed she must have gone in that time, unless she rested in one of the chambers of the castle itself. He did not think it was polite to ask, although he wished to. And so he kept his thoughts to himself.

He dwelled on the great monster they had discovered below Gran Soren, beneath the place of the Pawns where they waited and rested. Its many heads, like the Hydra, but endless, spawning from some unknown place deep underground.

It had terrified the Pawns, it seemed, and left him with a feeling of shaken terror as well – that great worming monster, it's endless tentacles. Were the tentacles the monsters, or merely the exhibition of the true one that waited below the glowing portcullis – if so it could be termed.

Leaving it behind them gave him no good feeling – what kind of abomination lived under this city that these people had chosen to live in. He did not know whether it was better that they stayed, with their soldiers and their Pawns, or fled away. It was the great capital, and largest defensible fortress in the land. He could not say, but leave it to the Duke's wisdom while he wondered himself.

It would have to be confronted at some point, that he knew. What was it? It was not like the Dragon, but it was certainly concerning enough. What had been trapped beneath there? And had they… unleashed it?

He shook his head, the Pawns had been concerned even before his coming (for they had anticipated him somehow, it seemed, with their strange eerie connection he did not quite understand) – he had merely investigated on their request.

He certainly hoped they were as they appeared, to the extent they did. Suspicion dogged him, and it was not good to not trust one's own companions. It could be a deadly dagger in its own right.

For simple expedience, he had chosen to trust them. At least for now.

The Pawns seemed full of strange sympathy, and advice, and even had a sense of humour, it seemed. If they were not human, it baffled him where they came from, and why they appeared so at all. Did they simply choose to appear that way? They were so glad to fight beside him, to fight evils. Perhaps they were as innocent as they seemed, and he and others were simply guilty of a prejudice against what was unknown. Perhaps that was their strangeness – perhaps they were what innocent beings were like, as in the fairytales. Pleasant, for no readily graspable reason, helpful, for no particular self-benefit – loyal, for utterly mysterious reasons that left him rather bemused and wondering at his right to command them, save that they seemed sincerely agreeable and in want of it.

Where, and… when… were they from? Although he did not know quite why he asked, even grasping at the questions were difficult with these beings, and so he searched as he could for words, for questions. They were immortal. How long had they been around? Not just their race, he realised, but them individually? Did they remember battles with past Arisen against the Dragon? He surmised as much.

What was their purpose? Like the strange woman on that Bitterblack Isle, did they not know? And for that matter, what was his? Did he truly understand it? He had thought merely to reclaim what was stolen, with this strange second chance he was granted. Certainly, the Dragon must have known what it was doing. More and more he suspected the Duke was right, and the Dragon had been laying a trap of some sort. At the time, he had merely believed he had been overlooked, protected by some strange blessing or stroke of fortune.

The Dragon was the epitome of evil and wickedness, it was its pure manifestation. Questions swirled.

By the Maker, there was so much to know, it was difficult to know where to begin. The Cathedral had brought a smile to his face – although he could not recall the last time he had visited such a place, a monument to faith always seemed to him a good and pleasant thing – it reminded one that there was more than the banality and primitive raw functions of greed, battle and struggle at work at a city where men gathered. It had been nice to see one.

Quina herself seemed to have left a clue, that she had gone to one now – but he did not find her inside or hear of her – and so he supposed a church was not a cathedral. He sighed, he could only keep an eye out for it – that girl was as mysterious in her disappearances as the Dragon itself, although he had known her since they were young.

He looked over. He would have to get Adora a shirt. They had a strange habit of misplacing them, and it should be embarrassing to meet Mercedes again with some unkempt companions. Perhaps she would have use of him again. A chance to redeem his misspeak, perhaps. If it could be called that.

He had attempted to do so for Adora instantly, but unfortunately his own was all he could provide – at least she wasn't indecent now, but he was feeling a little underclothed as sacrifice. He frowned, they seemed to possess notions of decency, at least – if not entirely. Were they naïve? They seemed much like adults otherwise.

He found their company soothing. They might not be true men or women, but they behaved somewhat like them, and they were company nonetheless. The Ogres certainly did not seem to be able to tell the difference.

For the moment, the Riftstone still held great mysteries to him, the hint of connections yet unknown. But he was still new at this – he had to…. – and he smirked for a second, painfully, as he realised and remembered -… follow his heart.

A man upon his destiny did not disregard the signs, it was said.

He was being a little foolish for the sake of a pretty girl who was a warrior, he realised, but he didn't see why else.


	2. Chapter 2

II

_The Dragon. It was as if it saw the world anew. Although it had seen it a thousand times over countless, endless aeons, through many eyes. The Endless Cycle. _

_Although unchanging, yet it was changed from within, again, as always, by the bloodfire of the youth it drew toward it. It's ancient visage creaked in an expression, and none could say whether it was real._

_Forever, unchanging, ancient, yet born again. Its own soul was old beyond time, and thus time was not its master. But the chain of the Eternal Cycle. Fate. _

_What it knew more, it did not say. It landed, and slew many villagers._

_Somehow, it had achieved what all men took for impossible. With great age, it was not, and though it did as it had done for the ten thousandth time, it was as a newborn child who had searched but never found before. And so people looked upon it and saw Evil, but it regarded itself and saw Perfection._

The words of the mad beggar lingered in his head, but he shook them off. Tightening the belt that held his sword, in a manoeuvre familiar and comfortable as putting on a hat, he led their way toward their next quest.

Thoughts of Mercedes also lingered, and he had surreptitiously been keeping an eye out for a gift of some kind. Still suspecting he had bruised her feelings, he thought maybe he could allay it somehow. There must be aught around that could fill such a requirement. If he should ever chance to see her again – and his gut informed him of his multiple emotions regarding it.

He almost laughed at himself. He supposed he had gotten to like her instantly. She seemed quite worldly, and wiser about it than he was. He did not want his own naivety to betray him.

And with that, they were off. And he had only gotten to meet the Duke that once.

He stared at the slate as if he could make greater meaning of its words. Only a few had been clarified for him. There were many texts, mysterious and unknown, and he had preserved them all, coming from fell places when none had a chance to recover them before.

With the Duke's advice on his mind, he hoped they would give a greater clarity on the quest, and indeed on the world itself. It seemed a much different place than it had a few short weeks ago.

He had met the Duke as a beggar, and their meeting was thus, much a secret – and it was only chance by way of the Cathedral that had created such a meeting. Every day, the holy man had said, and it was true. He had not mentioned how the Duke managed to escape notice so often, when he did. Thus "Tanion" had watched the Cleric, and the Cleric had watched for the Duke, and Tanion had his opportunity to speak to him although the castle was barred – for so he had suspected and supposed the man was, not merely a lord. Perhaps an assumption on his part, after all, never having seen the Duke, any man could imitate him – but it seemed to bear out, and he would know eventually.

They rested awhile upon the way. He merely took guard while the Pawns searched for berries and other such, making sure his equipment was all in good order. He did not truly rest.

Sometimes he had dreams. And the Dragon was not a Dragon, but a man after all. And sometimes, he imagined it smiled, and he felt a shock as if he was but was not that man. He did not know what it meant. Perhaps the Dragon meant merely to torment him in his sleep somehow – what dark magicks could it perform with his heart? How did he still live, for that matter? It defied reason. Something had taken place to preserve his life – he was not dead…

Was he?

The thought suddenly made all other concerns seem petty and shallow. He felt a jolt of pain thinking about Mercedes.

Was that why the Pawns appeared to him, why that look of sorrow was etched so plainly on their face – the reason for their solicitude?!

The thought was like a fire within his veins he could not quench.

Perhaps they were not soldiers at all, but his guardians to the after-life. A queer feeling but difficult to shake. He had a mind to challenge them about it. And he would. When there was time. When he had sorted out… his feelings… and his certainties…

He had thought their melancholy a mark of something else, although it was not entirely pervasive. They fought well enough in battle. But they were immortal, and so he supposed it was simply an attitude natural to their kind, or at least to those Pawns. No reason all Pawns should share the same thinking, however alike they seemed. But he did not know, of course. Who would? Only the mad beggar who raved, apparently, but he had gotten no likeable answers to his curiosity from that source. If he had a journal or any record of his discoveries, it was impossible to penetrate the man's ravings to ask about them.

They all seemed to have a scar of sorts, on their hand, which seemed to be significant to them somehow. Maybe it was like the one he had on his chest…

He pulled his knees up into his arms to get comfortable, and brooded.

(*)

She smiled. He had been merely a peasant by her reckoning, if good looking and strong. But there was more merit to him than it seemed, whatever his good points. He had done well against the monster, even with her entire Enlistment Corps there. Whatever training he had received, it had served him well quickly. She had been amazed at the sight of seeing him climb upon the monster's neck to hack its head off – it was daring and, as she said, impressive. Her men were no less, and it was a good boon to their spirits.

He had ably escorted her and her men to the capital – and so he would be… a likely recruit… she mused. Her eyes were a mystery with thought.

The man across from her seemed to notice her inattention, and rapped the table sharply.

"Ah yes," and she made her next move. A brief game of strategy was good for the wits, and she had time for strategy and thinking both.

(*)

And what of the knight? Strange and sterling – Tanion was immensely curious. He knew little about them.

His knowledge of the Maker was rudimentary – this knight had the look of a paladin, such as the stories told of. There were sorcerors that seemed to have some understanding of holy powers, and he wondered if the Paladin was another. There were books in the village of course, although most of their tales were told as by firelight, one to the other, as they waited for the fish to bite.

It had been a decent living, and made for plenty of food when he had grown strong enough, and it had grown him strong indeed.

If any were to understand more of the Dragon, it was either them, or the Faith – whom he had yet to encounter, it seemed. Were they not related? He would find out. His yokel ignorance was indeed a hamper, but he was quickly filling in the knowledge, as he had good companions to aid his mission.

The woman, Madeline, the knight had met with for yet unknown reasons – she did seem familiar indeed, although he could not place her. He was starting to regret carting her like luggage on the road, when she had asked his escort. There were bandits about, to be sure, but she didn't truly seem in danger by them – he would have been able to hold them off. It was more his sense of humour than anything that had gotten the best of him.

(*)

He had met some other soldiers on the way – humans, not Pawns. He had aided them against a harpy attack, and they found it convenient to camp together on the road. He wondered if he should attempt to collect men as Mercedes had – in order to go against the Dragon. For now, he had his Pawns. Perhaps it was Mercedes he should speak to about such a thing – for she seemed to be gathering a company. The Enlistment Corps, he believed she called it.

They exchanged conversation and insults by the firelight as they waited for the first watch. They would rest, for the morning promised dangers.

"Men exorcise demons often, they do it by expelling it onto each other. That's the nature of evil's lure – the desire. Often confusing."

"You know what it is to be new? To be someone, yet for no-one to know who you are. To have a name, but you have told no-one of it yet. And when you pick up a new name, ever few years – it always seems far away." This from a Pawn, catching the men by surprise who did not know how to respond.

"I had a wife once," the soldier stirred the fire. "It left me with a streak of violence toward all men." And he did not elaborate further on it, except that he liked them quite well, and was almost certain they weren't included.

Tanion smiled, shrugging it off for what it was. He well knew ire himself – although he supposed he was more fortunate in that he had many monsters to direct it on. Left without a heart left one to strange surges of anger, he found. It propelled him into many battles. Once it was simply to prove himself, now it was because it was what he did.

Good companions could be difficult or easy to find, especially human ones, but they were well worth the reward. He supposed one could grow to like the company of Pawns, simply because they were so even-tempered, so unburdened by the various moods that plagued a human party. They were always considerate and obedient, even if they teased, they called him "Master", but you could forget, listening to them.

He grew uneasy more than once, wondering if they were really human – what kind of relationship, rapport, could he develop with them? Was it wrong to do so? Should he think of them as people, or more like hounds? For they seemed greatly unoffended if he should choose among them, no bitterness or ire, just complacency – as he selected likely soldiers among them.

They did not ask of him more than he could give, but would support him flawlessly. He knew at least he could rely on them in these matters, and that was reassurance enough, given the places he must tread. Mercedes might have mastered the art of commanding men – but although he led men here and there, he was largely still mastering the art of being a fighter. If he was a leader, it was his Pawns, who required no great persuasion, or simply by chance. He had little need to dwell on it. If it was required, then he would.

Mercedes had attempted to command a few of them herself she had mentioned, but apparently Pawns lacked a small something in comparison to their human counterparts, besides a human soul, or whatever it was that distinguished them inside.

At the least he was able to provide soldiers of his own, and command the Pawns that roamed the human lands alongside them, and that was certainly worth something.

Eerie, when you thought about it. You could not tell them apart at a distance, or even until you simply spoke to one, men and women here simply must have gotten used to them. They seemed to partake of the sights, the experiences, as much as any being. They clothed themselves, ate, were hurt like humans – learned the crafts like other humans.

It was very strange.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Another night. There had been many bandits on the road, and were the subject of most of the talk. They were all experienced fighters at this stage, and comported themselves with little fear - they had proven themselves quite able to overwhelm bandits with superior fighting, strength and organisation at this stage - although Tanion well remembered the first uncertain feeling in the pit of his stomach, hollow and anxious, before he joined his first battle against them - so fearsome at the time. But now he had been whetted away to a keen edge.

"Men hate age because they see it as an obstacle to their true desire, and that kind of frustration makes a man angry indeed if he is not wise and strong. Many turn to banditry, or other evils, attempting to obtain by fire and crime what they feel has been denied them. Most often, it is fear that they crave – and afraid that they will continue to be the ones in fear."

"Fear motivates and drives men to many ends, that no longer seem so impassable as they do to men in comfort and safety from evils. Perhaps why they seek support, until there are veritable bands of them, occupying the country."

They listened and did not interrupt, for they were all tired – and the man was good to tell stories of this sort at these times, to aid in their rest. He was a strong man, and they were always glad to listen, sometimes even helping his burdens upon the road, to ensure he would not be too tired by nightfall.

The soldier was sort of a well regarded poet as well, and he told them many stories, and had many interesting things to tell, for the one thing he loved at his age (for he was older than most of them), was to teach. And one of those things was this.

"There's a moment – in battle – every time – where your age does not matter. You see the enemy's eyes, and for that moment, all your life and death is caught up in that moment, from the beginning to the end – and you can see it in his eyes – and so it is always the same moment. That is where I transgress time."

"I do not know what the Dragon sees – but if it is anything like that, then perhaps I understand it a little." He took a swig from his flask, and his eyes darkened. "Although I would not go bandying those words about. Words by the firelight can sometimes translate to be something else, told outside of the right company."

He tore a piece of rabbit meat from the knife with his teeth. "If you want to fight the Dragon, it probably helps to understand It."

Tanion couldn't argue with that – he had struggled much with that notion himself.

"You see a pretty girl, and sometimes you forget you're twenty years older than you were when you first started noticing pretty girls. Have to remember it, though – else maybe be disappointed."

"I say the more you forget, the better. Live in the moment – see the truth in the moment."

"Sometimes it just take a change of point of view. Which sometimes means joining the people you want to stay away from." And he tossed the bone into the fire and stalked off, suddenly – like it offended him.

"Must be why he has such a bad attitude."

"It'll wear off. Man's entitled to his grump – sometimes it's the only way you know he's thinking."

He said nothing. Just listened to them talk on about age – with many and widely differing opinions that converged only upon the fact they were no longer youths, and that was not entirely a bad thing. He felt a small amount of pleasure in that he wasn't one of them, but nonetheless, it was certainly useful food for the mind, as they had wont to say in some places.

After all, youth over age was a vain thing, if you were no wiser in the end. Still, he aimed to enjoy it while it lasted – else there would be little joy in being one. His mind was upon the dragon. In some ways, he knew that perhaps that would be the end of him – and therefore, he had some comfort in that such questions may hold little meaning for him.

His only notion was to speak with Mercedes when it was time. Besides his own wish to see her besides, she was the only one to face the Hydra monster with him, and she seemed to have experience in the matters that… mattered. Perhaps she would know where he should look next. But until she reappeared – there were still things to investigate. Still those who had need of aid. Still places were more answers might wait. One in particular he thought of, for he had some designs that he wondered if might take place. Something one of his Pawns said had sparked the notion.

He looked at the glowing purple stone in his hand, its facet shone with strange magick. It was a Riftstone, which he had rescued from beneath Gran Soren, where that unknown terrible beast lurked in wait with its endless serpentine heads, or tentacles or whatever they were. And the others, lesser stones of a sort, that would transport him to it.

He would need their magic.

Some time later, he had transported himself using one such, for they were drawn to powerful loci – his Riftstone was but one he possessed himself. And his journey was complete.

He stood upon the edge of the Bitterblack Isle.

End of Act One.


End file.
